


it was good

by Pipasa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Gen, Goodbyes, Hurt/Comfort, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Vampires, idk what to even say about this, if this counts as a fix it lmao, probably ooc but i dont really care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pipasa/pseuds/Pipasa
Summary: and it’s a cruel thing, really, it is, to almost laugh in the face of your brother who is writhing on the floor, blood seeping from his neck as he becomes the thing he hates. it’s cruel, really, it is. but sam can’t help it. it’s just a scoff, really, the briefest form of laughter slipping from his slightly parted lips as he moves be by dean whose eyes are glazing more and more by the second, reddening in a haze of pain and fury.///or, dean's death, reimagined.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	it was good

**Author's Note:**

> so... that finale, huh?
> 
> though i did like the episode, i found dean's death scene kinda... underwhelming. so here's a take i did on a different form of the same scene written in a haze immediately after watching the episode. 
> 
> classic warnings for blood, character death, and gore. ya know, the usual supernatural stuff!

for a moment, he wants to laugh.

and it’s a cruel thing, really, it is, to almost laugh in the face of your brother who is writhing on the floor, blood seeping from his neck as he becomes the thing he hates. it’s cruel, really, it is. but sam can’t help it. it’s just a scoff, really, the briefest form of laughter slipping from his slightly parted lips as he moves be by dean whose eyes are glazing more and more by the second, reddening in a haze of pain and fury.

it takes only one misplaced drop of blood to make the vamp-cure a no go, and they both know this. they both know that the red flying from sad’s broken nose into dean’s gaping mouth was the final blow to seal his fate. somewhere, deep in his chest, sam is aware this isn’t his fault. he couldn’t have stopped this, even if he wanted to, but the guilt seeps in, twisting and turning its way through his every bone.

he’s laughing in every sense that he’s crying, down on his knees as dean rights himself, on all fours and heaving dryly onto the dirt floor as sunlight creeps in through the rafters. “no,” he’s muttering, “no, not like this,” like a word has ever saved them. sam thinks for a moment, maybe now god is listening, but they haven’t really heard from jack since he took on the role. it’s a deafening kind of silence- the kind that aches like a handful of college years away from the brother who raised you- or the brother you raised.

so sam’s laughter isn’t really laughter. at least, he doesn’t think it is, because he doesn’t find this funny. there’s nothing funny about the way dean is looking at him- the fear in his eyes giving way to hunger as he grows further and further from himself, more feral, teeth reforming like broken bones mended wrong, like the mark of cain made him smile once. so no, sam isn’t laughing. he’s weeping, in a roundabout way, the dread mixing with denial.

his belly aches from it though, and his grip on his machete fluctuates as it digs into his palm, flashes on different lifetimes pattering beneath his eyelids as dean fights to control himself but can’t,  _ can’t _ , and is looking worse by the second.

“just do it, sam,” he’s begging now. “just do it.” but sam can’t,  _ cant _ , and it sinks down in his gut that it was always going to be like this. dean killing him or him killing dean, but both dying at once with the bloodshed. he wants to imagine it different. he really, really wants to- like god’s script being unwritten could change what had already been wrote- like it could reshape their dna to be genuine godly men, not morning stars and swords and weapons of mass destruction, perfect for one another. he wants to imagine a world where they grow old- where they smile on some porch, graying with a tired dog at their feet and a sunset ahead. he wants to imagine it different than bloody barns and teeth and claws, different than being ripped apart from the inside out by one beast or another. he wants to imagine it peaceful, like falling asleep. 

so sam says “no,” says, “no, dean, please. i can’t- i can’t do this alone,” and laughs, “i can’t, please.”

and dean gives him a look, deadly serious, like nothing else matters.

“ _ sammy _ ,” he says, reaching out with bloodied hands, gripping sam’s collar as he kneels, “i can’t become this. i won’t. you gotta do this for me, sam.”

sam’s mouth hangs open, a sob dying in his throat as dean stares into his eyes. 

“it’s okay. it’s okay, sammy,” and he says it like a promise, like it’s true, like it’s ever been so. “it’s alright. it’s gotta be like this.”

“dean, no,” sam whispers, his voice hoarse. “dean, we have to- we have to do this together. i-i can’t do this without you, please-“

“then don’t,” dean says, and the breath leaves sam’s lungs.

“ _ what _ ?” 

“get out, sam. y-you always had it in you- here it is, get outta jail free card!” dean explains, and he’s smiling, wet-eyed, like the fangs don’t hurt when they rip through your gums. “you finish this hunt, and then you run. i-i won’t be here to drag you back in.”

“no- dean, we’ll fix this. i-i’ll get jack, or- or rowena- we’ll figure this out. i’m not letting you die-“

“sammy,” dean says, “it’s okay. i-i’m  _ tired _ , sam. i’m done,” and his legs shake beneath him as he pulls himself up, steps closer to sam, releasing his collar and grabbing his wrist. “i’m done. with- with all the fighting. we saved them. all of them that we could, and...” he pants momentarily, fighting to breathe as the pain courses through him, restraining himself from the scent of sam’s blood. “and now, we get out. you’re ending is just— a, a little neater than mine.” dean says, taking the opportunity to smirk.

“no, dean-“

“it was always gonna be like this, huh? i-i die in the fight, ‘cause it’s the only thing i know. b-but  _ you _ ,” dean enunciates by jabbing a weak finger into sam’s chest, the rapid beating of his heart palpable under. “you can get out. have a life. be happy, yeah? c-can you do that for me, sammy?”

“dean-“

“please,” dean says, his eyes downcast, glassy. “please. i- if i have to die like this,” and his grip tightens on sam’s wrist, the machete in his hand slanted to the floor. dean’s gaze locks on it. “do it now. fast. don’t... don’t draw this out. don’t let me hurt anyone, sammy.”

“dean...” sam says, his voice wilting. he knows. dean knows. a silence settles over them until dean finally breaks it, his voice watery.

“name your squirt after me, huh? when you have one. think i’ve earned it.”

and there sam goes again, huffing out weak laughs in the face of death cause his brother had the gaul to be funny.

“i’d been thinking cas, actually,” sam says, and he smiles softly in a way that’s half real.

dean’s laugh is like a bark, breaking through his sharp mouth as his smile reveals a row of jagged teeth.

“bitch,” he says.

“jerk.”

dean falls to his knees, not quite out of a physical need but an emotional exhaustion. he tilts his head up, looking towards his brother and tears cascade down his cheeks. he’s not sure when he started crying. sam’s crying too, he notices. it doesn’t surprise him.

sam starts to raise the machete, his grip on it flimsy still but he grounds himself. he pulls back, charging up a strike when dean bursts out, “wait! wait!”

“what?” sam asks, his voice thick with tears. 

dean’s voice is quiet- almost impossible to hear when he asks, “can... can you tell me it’s okay? that it’ll be okay?”

and sam bites his lip for a moment as his stomach twists. he doesn’t want to lie, not about something like this. but dean took far of him for years, feeding him boxed macaroni and beating off questions of dad’s disappearance with promises of better days. he can do this, he resolves.

“it’s okay, dean,” he manages, sounding half convinced. dean smiles, nodding.

“thanks, sammy… see ya later.”

and the blade flies through.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can follow me on tumblr @pipasa if you wanna!


End file.
